Here Kitty Kitty!
by GlitterFrog
Summary: Everyone's favorite demon barber gets way more than he bargained for when he helps Mrs. Lovett move some of her ancestor's belongings and Toby's kitten makes a nuisance of himself.


Here Kitty Kitty!

A/N: There are some stories that are enormous fun to write but make me wonder what the pancakes is wrong with me. This one leads the pack. (…so far…) Keep forgetting to do this, but Sweeney Todd, his bloody wonder, and all other characters and settings are Stephen Sondheim's and Tim Burton's. All I own are this idea and a hysterical case of Sweenett shipping.

"I'm tellin' ya, love, my great-grandmother professed to know magic."

The demon barber snorted.

Mrs. Lovett raised an eyebrow at him. "Much of me family'd swear by it."

Sweeney grunted as he strained to hold up the cobwebbed trunk in his arms. "Why didn't you get some of them to help you haul her bloody things?"

"Careful, love," the baker panted, doing her best to balance a stack of letters and an unwieldy box, "That stuff's powerful old. I've no idea what some of it even is."

"Bricks," Sweeney growled, as a bead of perspiration snaked its way down his pale brow, "Would be my guess."

Tiny claws clicked across the floor as a ball of fluff trotted towards the center of the action. The creature got directly under Sweeney's feet and rubbed its face on his pant leg.

The psychopath swore and staggered. "Geroff, you little monster!"

"To-by!" hollered Mrs. Lovett. "Come and get Patches."

"Coming, Mum," came the far-off reply.

The brown and black kitten laid down on his back and kicked at Sweeney's boot with all four paws as the demon barber attempted to set his foot down. The barber spat an incredibly foul phrase, stumbled, and plunged to the floor. Patches squeaked. Ancient metal crunched, and a musty plume of dust rose in the air like a peacock tail.

"Mister Todd!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed. She set her burden down as fast as she could without damaging it and rushed to her business partner. The trunk lay on its side in a puddle of thin green liquid. Sweeney was facedown in the stuff. Patches was crumpled in a ball of scruffy fur and oversized paws. Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. "Oh, no," she breathed. What if the dear little thing was hurt? She squatted down, ignoring her knees' complaints, and stroked Patches's whiskered cheek. "Puss-puss-puss," she cooed, "Is you alright? You ain't hurt, are yeh?"

To her surprise, the kitten jerked to his feet before she could attempt to pick him up. He swatted away her fingers and hissed irritably, as if he couldn't be bothered with her comfort just then. Sweeney, however, raised his head and let out a plaintive wail.

The baker's eyes widened. The cry had startled her on a number of levels. "Mister Todd?" She stammered. "Is you alright?"

There were a few nicks and scratches on his face (she guessed that something glass had broken), and he didn't seem to have any serious hurts. But the demon barber howled like every bone in his legs had been broken and he'd just barely managed to crawl home to Fleet Street to die. He sprang to his knees and buried his face in her arms, wailing pathetically. Unprepared as she was to receive him, Mrs. Lovett was nearly bowled over onto her bottom.

Uncertainly, she wrapped one arm around him and stroked the streak in his messy hair. "There, there, dear. You're alright. Settle down, love."

He tilted his head to meet her fingers and nuzzled her fingernails with his cheek. She blushed fever-hot.

Toby skidded to a stop just feet from the ruined crate. "Mum! Is everyfing alright? I heard screamin'!" He dusted flower from his hands, looking anxiously for his kitten.

"I-I'm not sure, Toby." Mrs. Lovett replied, staring at Sweeney as he rubbed his nose on her knuckles and clasped her hand close to his face with both his hands.

Toby stared too. "Mister Todd-?"

Patches tottered up to Toby, his belly fur dripping the mysterious green fluid.

"Patches!" Toby greeted, relief evident in his voice.

He bent down to retrieve the kitten, and the tiny animal drew away as though he'd been struck in the nose with a rock. He hissed and flattened his tattered ears. Toby's face creased in hurt and concern. Patches didn't have an aggressive bone in his teeny body. He was so good-natured as to enjoy it when Toby bathed him in the sink, and to allow Mrs. Lovett to carry him around the shop on his back like a human baby and tickle his tummy while she crooned nonsensical endearments into his ear. Yet Patches flinched away from Toby and streaked up the stairs, snarling and spitting all the way. Sweeney rolled over so that his head was in Mrs. Lovett's lap and grinned up at Toby. Mrs. Lovett and her adopted son exchanged a gaze that expressed one thought without the use of a single word: _Uh-oh._ * * *

"What the heck's going on, Mum?" Toby whispered, as he mopped at the floor with a towel.

"Be pickled if I know," the baker replied, gingerly plucking a shard of glass from the floor. "Toby, fer the love of all wot's good and decent, don't let that stuff touch ya."

The oh-so-lovable street urchin scrubbed more carefully and handled the cloth with two fingers when he'd finished. "You think your great-grandmum's stuff's what's making Mister Todd and Patches act so weird?"

"That'd be my guess."

Toby was silent for a minute. Then he mumbled, "I sure hope they'll be back to normal soon."

Mrs. Lovett straightened up, wincing at the chronic twinge in her lower back. "You an' me both, love." * * *

Sweeney followed them both to the rubbish bin. He circled around and between them as they progressed with the cleaning, getting in the way no matter where they moved.

"Oi! Bug off, Mister Todd!" Toby complained.

"Toby!" Mrs. Lovett admonished. "That's no way to speak to the man wot's done so much for us."

"Sorry, Mum." Toby muttered.

"That's _my_ job."

Mrs. Lovett planted her hands on her hips and stared Sweeney down. He gazed at her, looking so different with the usual darkness absent from his eyes and the corners of his mouth that his face didn't look entirely his.

"You're makin' a real nuisance of yourself, Mister T. Either lend a hand or go brood like you usually do."

Sweeney smiled back at her, tipped his head, and licked his arm. Toby and his adoptive mother stared as the licking escalated to nibbling. Sweeney rubbed the spitty spot against his head. He then proceeded to lick the same spot again and repeat the lick-and-rub process several times.

"Toby, go and fetch the doctor."

"Mum, I ain't leavin' you with 'im in that state."

"'E could be brain-damaged for all we know. He needs somebody to take a look at 'im and make sure there's nothing wrong underneath."

"Fine, I'll take him wiv me."

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. She didn't trust the oh-so-unpredictable object of her adoration with her little boy. "Then I'm comin' too."

Toby bit his lip, gathering his courage. "But, first…"

Mrs. Lovett's heart wrenched in her chest as Toby reached for the barber's ever-present silver friend. "'Ave you lost yer marbles?!"

Toby's fingers slipped into the leather holster before Mrs. Lovett could snatch his hand away. Sweeney watched with an amiable smile and rubbed his head on the razor when Toby pulled it from its case. Both Toby and Mrs. Lovett watched Sweeney as Toby slipped the razor into his pocket. Sweeney's smile never soured nor slipped. The three left the shop without one bit of trouble. * * *

_Outside _the shop was a different story. Sweeney stared at everyone and everything as if he'd never seen any of it before. He got away from Toby and Mrs. Lovett at least half a dozen times and they had quite the time catching up to him again. He chased a rat straight into a wall. He nearly jumped onto Mrs. Lovett's head when a stray dog started barking. When the three finally arrived at the doctor's establishment, the doctor determined that nothing was physically wrong with Sweeney and charged Mrs. Lovett a sum that made her head steam.

"Five bleedin' minutes!" she snapped, "Charges me 'alf a week's earnings after lookin' at Mister T for five minutes, and wot's his advice? Ta let him sleep it off?" She gestured at Sweeney, who was currently engrossed in skipping after a butterfly in Hyde Park. "Does that LOOK like somethin' 'e ken just sleep off?"

"No, Mum," Toby answered, unsure if the demand was rhetorical but not wanting to take any chances.

The bubbly redhead softened a bit. "I'm sorry, Toby, dear. Didn't mean to take this all out on you."

"S'alright, Mum."

The boy squeezed her waist, and she hugged him tightly, overcome with fondness for this boy that could roll with the craziest days of their shared life and still have the patience to put up with her eccentricities and endless yammering. She kissed the top of his head. "Let's go home."

He beamed up at her. "Right, Mum." * * *

It took some effort to coax Sweeney away from his butterfly, but he was willing enough to trot after his landlady and her boy when they finally succeeded in doing so.

"So wot are we s'posed to do now, Mum?" Toby asked, fastening one hand firmly in the crook of Sweeney's arm to keep him from bolting after another rat.

Mrs. Lovett blew out a sigh and shrugged one shoulder. "Well, dear, if 'e isn't brain-damaged, then something mysterious of me great-grandmum's is at work 'ere, and there ain't much we ken do aside from lettin' it run its course."

Toby visibly shuddered. "I'm afraid of wot 'e might do, Mum."

Mrs. Lovett wasn't. In fact, she couldn't remember a time that she'd been LESS intimidated by Sweeney Todd. "Well, I wouldn't worry your head about it, love."

Toby still looked uncertain. * * *

Mrs. Lovett made one last attempt to appeal to the demon barber that she knew and was ridiculously attracted to. She led him upstairs to his shop and carefully sat him down in his chair.

"Now look 'ere, Mister T- you're not a pussycat. You're a barber. A bloody good one at that.."

He stared at her unblinkingly.

"You 'ave customers coming in less than 'alf an hour, and you 'ave work to do."

She extended one of his razors to him, half expecting to be bellowed half to deafness for daring to lay a finger on one of his precious friends. Sweeney kept staring, his pupils dilating slightly.

"Mister T?" She jiggled the razor.

Sweeney put one hand up and patted the air a few times before batting at the razor, his smile growing into a grin as he leaned partway out of the seat with a look of intense concentration. A giggle escaped the baker's full lips before she could stop it. She hugged the barber. As he laid his head on her shoulder and made a contented grumbling noise deep in his throat, she resigned herself to enjoying this particular fiasco. * * *

The bell on the door jingled, and ice ran into Mrs. Lovett's veins as a stranger rumbled, "Top of the morning, Mister Todd. Marm."

He tipped his hat to Mrs. Lovett; the baker had the presence of mind to curtsey. "I was hopin' to have me mustache trimmed and a little taken off the top."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Lovett told the man, "But I'm afraid Mister Todd isn't feeling very well today. 'E's not available for work."

"Oh, that IS a pity," the mustached gentleman replied with a sigh. He fished out a golden pocket watch and had a look at its face. "I am to escort a most charming lady to a party at quarter past four, and I _do _need to look my best."

"That's a right shame," Mrs. Lovett replied, noticing too late that Sweeney was steadily approaching this potential new friend. He reached out, eyes glowing with fascination, and patted the watch's dangling chain. The mustached gentleman stared. Thinking quickly, Mrs. Lovett chirped, "Lovely craftsmanship, innit, Mister Todd?" She snatched his arm before he could do any more damage to his reputation.

"Yes. Quite. Good day." The fairly discomfited man all but sprinted down the stairs.

"Best of luck with the lady, sir!" the plucky redhead called after him.

As the door closed and the bell jangled, she knitted the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "Ohhh, Mister T- wot am I goin' to do with you?"

Sweeney folded his hands behind his back and peeked up at her with mournful, slightly worried eyes. She knew that look: Patches wore it whenever he'd been scolded for his night crazies or caught climbing the drapes and suspected that he was in trouble.

"Ohhh, never you mind, Mister T." Mrs. Lovett slid an arm around him, liking how he didn't flinch away and loving that he leaned into her warm touch. "Don't you worry: your Nellie'll take care of yeh till you're yourself again."

The contented rumbling returned; she could feel it vibrating from his upper back. And all the while Patches was staring venomously from the great window.

"Don't look a' me like tha'," Mrs. Lovett complained. "There's really not much else I can do in the meantime, love."

He merely sniffed and turned his tiny tail to her in disdain. * * *

Once the **'Closed'** sign was up over Sweeney's shop, the day's pace slowed down a bit. Many men went away shaggy and disappointed. Mrs. Lovett had fewer customers than she'd been getting used to lately. She didn't mind. Frankly, she was even grateful for it. Around midday, the baker was actually able to take a break. She moved her bookkeeping materials from her parlor to the kitchen table so that she could keep an eye on Sweeney and make sure that Toby was doing alright making the next batch of dough for her pie crusts. Her work went fairly smoothly, except for one bit where Sweeney climbed onto the table and laid down on all of her papers and wouldn't budge until she rubbed his belly and scratched under his chin.

Periodically, she climbed the stairs to check on Patches. Every time, she found him either pacing on his stubby legs or staring balefully out at the world through the window from the top of the barber chair. The first time she'd found him on the chair, she'd rushed to him and tried to scoop him off, exclaiming that that chair was dangerous. He'd fixed her with a stare that was so irritated and condescending that she'd simultaneously wanted to cringe and smack it off his teensy whiskered face. To add injury to insult, he'd bitten her when she'd tried to pick him up and carry him downstairs. She'd left before she could do something rash, such as chucking his little angsty self across the room. Overhand.

Just to show that, whether he was on two legs or four, Sweeney Todd was still Sweeney Todd. As Mrs. Lovett scratched out a few mathematical figures and frowned in concentration, a drop landed on her stockinged leg. She looked down in surprise and noticed that the barber's chin was dribbling. The man's mouth was watering. She followed his eyes across the room and noticed Toby munching on a pie. Mrs. Lovett's empty stomach twisted and gurgled, letting her know that it was indeed lunchtime.

The baker slapped her hands onto her knees and sat up. "Right then, who's ready for some din-din?"

Recognizing one of Patches's favorite words, Sweeney brightened, as if to say, "Me! Me!" * * *

Mrs. Lovett was used to Sweeney Todd leaving her homecooked meals untouched. She was used to him asserting that he only had an appetite for vengeance now. She was used to pestering him to take some food until he growled at her to stop coddling him. Therefore, even taking into consideration her business partner's current mental state, Mrs. Lovett was not a little astonished when Sweeney plunged his face into the bowl of beef (yes, beef) stew before she had the chance to set the bowl down on the kitchen table.

"Mister T!" she exclaimed.

Sweeney lapped up the hearty broth with his tongue, spattering his cheeks, forehead, and a bit of the table with flecks of broth and bits of beef.

"Oi!" Mrs. Lovett, still instinctively shielding her face and bodice, protested. "My table!"

"I just _cleaned _that!" Toby's exasperated voice hollered from behind the counter.

The barber's head popped up. He stared up at his landlady, broth dripping down his nose and chin and onto his shirt collar. Bits of beef were caught in his hair. A fond grin worked its way onto Mrs. Lovett's lips and sparkled in her big brown eyes despite herself.

"Come on then, love," the baker plopped down into the seat opposite Sweeney, and picked up the neglected spoon. "Let's help you out a bit then, eh?"

The barber watched eagerly as she scooped a generous mouthful of stew into the spoon and held it to his lips. "Open up, now."

He happily complied. Subsequent spoonfuls were snapped up with the same kittenish eagerness.

The fun-sized redhead giggled. "Nummy-nummy, isn't it, Mister T?"

Sweeney swept his tongue over his lips, looking eagerly to her for more. Toby, watching from the doorway, stopped eating his pie. Sickened, the boy set it on the counter and slunk from the room. Mrs. Lovett didn't notice when he came or went. Her eyes were only for Sweeney as he finished the soup and began licking his hand and swiping at his face to get at the last of his lunch.

The baker grinned and drew her handkerchief out of her bodice. "Hold still, dear."

Sweeney squirmed and tried to bat the handkerchief out of her hands.

She giggled. "Hold _still_!"

As she took her tenant's chin in one hand and rubbed his face with an almost maternal tenderness, Toby went to the parlor to go lie down for a while. * * *

As the sun crept lower, so did the temperature. By sunset, everyone on Fleet Street was surrounded by a cloud of their own breath. Mrs. Lovett blew into her hands and stomped her feet while Toby added a few more bits of kindling to the blaze in the hearth. Both Sweeney and Patches were curled up on the warmest spot of the rug laid out next to the hearth. Patches laid his head and left paw on Toby's momentarily abandoned book and growled when Toby tried to ease the tome out from under his diminutive frame. Toby surrendered, sat a few paces away, and gazed into the flames as he warmed his callused hands. Mrs. Lovett got out her knitting basket and the scarf that she'd been attempting to knit for Toby during what precious little down time that she'd been able to snatch over the last six weeks. She left to fetch a picture of the pattern that she was doing her best to mimic and returned maybe two minutes later to find Sweeney sitting in the basket.

The vivacious landlady folded her arms. "Really, Mister Todd?"

Sweeney stared up at her, his knees nearly touching his cheekbones, unable to comprehend what the problem was. She stared down at him a few moments longer, then sighed and sat down on the floor beside him. Toby laid his head in her lap, and she stroked his dark hair. The boy closed his eyes in relaxation.

"You did well today, love. You was a great help." Mrs. Lovett told him.

He smiled without opening his eyes. "Thanks, Mum."

"I don't know what I'd do wivout you." She whispered.

His grin widened and grew shyer. "I wos just going to say the same fing."

"You sweetheart."

The baker kept stroking his hair. It wasn't long before another head nudged her right arm and burrowed under her elbow, worming its way forward until a bony chin came to rest on her hip. Hardly daring to breathe, she shifted one hand and touched its palm to Sweeney Todd's messy mane. The barber tilted his head so that his skull pushed upwards into her hand. Fingers atremble, Mrs. Lovett stroked his thick, tangly locks. The deep, contented grumbling sound that he'd made earlier that day started up in his throat again. The hand that he had on her leg began to fist in her skirt. His fingertips dew inward until his nails snagged in her stocking. Then his hand relaxed and spread out across her leg once more, only to repeat the process. He continued to do so as the kindling crackled and sparks snapped in the fireplace.

Mrs. Lovett closed her round eyes, drinking in this moment of contentment while her men relaxed in the shifting shadows that played across the rug. Toby nodded off once, then twice, jolting as if he'd received a minor shock each time that he snapped back to consciousness. Sweeney yawned with every single one of his teeth and ceased kneading. Even Patches curled up more securely on one half of Toby's book and allowed his brow to unpinch a little. Mrs. Lovett had to blink rapidly several times to keep her leaden eyelids half open.

She yawned. "Come on, you lot- 's time for bed."

Toby hid a yawn behind his hand and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of one fist. The baker gave his hair one last affectionate rumple and rubbed Sweeney's shoulder. "You too, love. Up you go."

Sweeney blinked slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure whether or not he was dreaming. Mrs. Lovett kissed his temple and helped him get vertical. He stumbled along behind her, yawning, as she and Toby started getting ready for bed. It was too cold to take baths, so they skipped right to donning pajamas and taking care of personal grooming. Toby helped Sweeney get dressed, and Mrs. Lovett helped him wash his face and brush his teeth. The barber allowed them, sleepily blinking the entire time. Just as Toby was nearly finished with brushing his teeth, an imperious knock sounded on the pie shop's door.

Mrs. Lovett groaned. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kiddin' me."

She threw on one of Albert's old coats over her nightgown and stepped back into her boots. Sweeney perked up and sidled towards the door, head up and spine straight, eager and curious. Patches scowled and twitched his tail but otherwise didn't stir as Mrs. Lovett crossed, grumbling, to the door, Toby close behind her. An imposing silhouette waited impatiently just outside the frosted window.

The baker pulled the door open, already sighing, "Can yeh come back t—" The words curdled and evaporated in her throat. "Why, Judge Turpin."

Patches stiffened, and both his ears shot up.

The slimy vulture of the law stepped inside, kicking snow off his boots. "I beg your pardon for calling at this hour."

Mrs. Lovett drew on her best false smile and stepped half a pace in front of Toby so that she was between her boy and the judge. "Oh, not at all, my lord- what can I do for yeh?"

"I was detained by my duties and am only now free to have dinner," the judge replied. "I realize that it's late, but I was hoping for a nice warm pie or two."

Patches's ears were slicked so far back against his teeny skull that they were no longer visible. With every word that the judge spoke, more of his fur stood on end.

"Well, I'm afraid that I 'aven't anything fresh out of the oven just at the moment," Mrs. Lovett apologized, "But I 'ave some leftovers from the lunch hour."

Judge Turpin nodded once, squinting his stony eyes as he rubbed his dripping nose with one sleeve. "That will be fine. Of course, you'll be rewarded handsomely for your trouble."

"Well, that's very kind of you, my lord. We'll get yeh fixed right up." She poked Toby in the ribs, nudging him out of the room.

He hastily quitted the room. Patches rose from the rug, his tiny head swiveling frantically as he tried to determine where Toby had hidden the razor. Sweeney peeked over Mrs. Lovett's shoulder.

Judge Turpin nodded his grizzled chin once. "Evening, Mister Todd."

Sweeney smiled at him, tipping his head to one side but saying nothing.

"He has a bit of a sore throat," Mrs. Lovett fibbed, linking one arm through her business partner's elbow before he could go after the loose thread in the judge's scarf. Then, lying through her teeth, she added, "But he wishes you well."

"That's a pity, Mister Todd," the black-hearted official replied, "I hope that you are recovered soon."

"We all feel the same," Mrs. Lovett airily replied.

Patches stalked across the room, gaining speed with each stiff-legged stride, his entire body bristling. Unleashing the most impressive screech that his kitten throat would permit, he gathered his strength and launched himself at the judge's throat. His baby muscles landed him midway up Judge Turpin's left leg. Patches bent his head and sank his teeth into the judge's leg. Judge Turpin started and then swore as the kitten clawed his way up his leg, snarling and strengthening each new foothold with every tooth and claw that he possessed.

"Gerroff, you sorry scrap!"

Mrs. Lovett hastened to the judge's side. "Don't worry, Mister T- I've got him."

She pulled in vain at Patches's scruff until the kitten's eyes had shifted in such a way as to make him look very surprised. "No, no. Bad kitty!" she scolded, unable to help thinking that she was as good as baked into one of her own pie crusts once Sweeney was himself again.

The judge gritted his teeth and irritably shook his leg. Patches hung on with every cell in his body, trying his hardest to meld his extremities into the judge's leg. Toby jogged into the room, carrying two cold pies on a plate wrapped up in a towel. He set the toweled plate on the nearest table and ran to assist his mother. It took all three of their combined efforts to pry Patches loose.

Mrs. Lovett clung to the tiny animal as he squirmed and kicked and emitted sharp squeaks of wrath. "I'm so sorry, my lord."

The judge curled his stubbled lip. "See to it that you keep your animals under control in the future."

He slapped a generous sum into Toby's hand and limped over to collect his pies.

"I could dress that leg for you," the baker offered, still battling to hold on to the spitting, writhing Patches.

"I'll have it taken care of." Judge Turpin curtly replied, and stepped out into the night.

The slap of the door shut out the chill of the evening and what remained of his odious presence. Patches stared out the window as the judge's carriage pulled away. As the clopping of hooves faded down the street, he wailed and plonked his face down into Mrs. Lovett's cleavage.

Mrs. Lovett stroked his head and his tiny spine, speaking gently like she did during one of Sweeney's more colorful episodes. "There, there, my love. There's always tomorrow," she soothed.

The despondent Patches did not raise his face. Sweeney yawned and scratched behind his ear, hardly aware of what had just passed.

Toby turned away from the window, still a little shaken. "We shoulda spat in those pies, Mum."

Mrs. Lovett snorted. "Next time for sure, dear." * * *

With no more unexpected customers to wait on, those in the pie shop settled down for a much-needed rest. Patches was quite convinced that he wanted to spend the evening moping upstairs, but Mrs. Lovett told him in no uncertain terms that he was NOT going to freeze his paws off in that drafty, lonely gray attic of a room. Being not quite a sixteenth of her size, there wasn't much that he could do to argue. The baker locked the parlor door and rekindled the fire. That being done, she set Patches down by the hearth and swept back the fur from his eyes. He flinched away from her fingers but didn't bat at her with his claws, which she saw as an improvement.

There was a bit of excitement when Sweeney attempted to climb onto the couch with Toby and curl up at his feet as Patches was so fond of doing. After that, the boy was quite understandably too perturbed to sleep on the couch, so Mrs. Lovett invited him to cuddle in her bed for the evening. There was only one complication that followed this arrangement: Sweeney bemoaned his exclusion so piteously from the other side of the bedroom door that Mrs. Lovett relented and tiptoed out of her room once Toby was deep into dreams. She laid down in front of the fireplace and sighed, more glad than she'd thought possible that there weren't any bodies waiting in the basement. She'd have to buy more beef and Sweeney would have to pick up the slack later on, but those were worries for the morning.

Right now, the baker was only thinking about Sweeney as he curled up against her tummy and rested his cheek in the hollow of her throat, one ear to her fluttering pulse. She held him close, closed her eyes, and wished that the night never had to bleed away into morning. Teeny feet crept onto her arches and circled twice. Patches curled up across her ankles, his chin and whiskers tickling her bare, flame-warmed skin. All three were asleep within minutes. * * *

Mrs. Lovett woke to the aroma of hot biscuits. She exhaled and started to sit up- and felt another body nestled against her own. Her eyes fluttered open as Toby called a "Good morning!" from the now-unlocked parlor door. Patches bounced at his feet, eyes bright and tail raised exuberantly. The baker tried her hardest to swallow back the sick pang of disappointment in her chest and throat. It felt oddly similar to heartbreak. Sweeney Todd stirred beside her, stretching his back like some great jungle cat.

"G'morning, Mister T. You, uh, feelin' any better today?" She held her breath, unsure of what sort of response to expect and doing her best to brace herself for anything.

The demon barber's dark eyes slid open. "Much better, my pet."

He rubbed his cheek against hers, and her neck and face exploded with heat. Smirking, Sweeney climbed effortlessly to his feet and offered her his arm. Then, pulling her up beside him, the demon barber led his baffled but adoring accomplice to the breakfast table with one hand draped across the back of her neck, his dexterous fingers kneading just slightly.


End file.
